Trappings
by Alithea
Summary: AU setting. A request for advice leads to poorly made decisions. Trowa/Nichol


Title: Trappings  
Rating: PG-13  
AU  
Poetry is mine.  
Characters are not mine. I am just borrowing.  
A/N: With thanks to Jilly-chan for the challenge and the distractions.

* * *

"Did you try turning it off and back on again?" He asked, only half paying attention, flip-flop sandal dangling precariously from his foot.

"This is my love life, not a broken computer. That is not how you repair a relationship."

"My mistake. I tend to drift into work mode when you ramble on like that," he replied drolly and smiled in that awkward way that meant he was sorry, but only just.

"Dammit, Barton, could you be helpful for once!"

Trowa sat up in the beach chair and then stood up. He walked over to the mini-fridge that was humming in the corner of the hotel room and pulled out two beers. Then he opened them and walked back towards his chair, and the view he had been enjoying. Along the way he stopped at the sullen and sulking form of Brandon Nichol and held out one of the bottles. Once it was accepted he sat down and shut his eyes. Brandon had a crisis of girlfriend about every two months, and sometimes it was even with the same girl. The problem wasn't Brandon's love life. The problem was that Brandon always chased after the wrong things, and in the wrong ways.

"Well," Brandon growled.

"I gave you a beer, what more do you want," Trowa asked. "Look, Nichol, if you think she's cheating on you why not just ask her? Oh! Wait, that's right, because you were with another girl the night you thought you saw her cheating." He opened his eyes and took in the lazy way the waves lapped up against the sand. "Seems to me you both understand the sort of relationship you have."

There was no sound from behind him for quite a while, and then there was the loud gulping of a cold cheap beer and the clank of the glass bottle as it hit a trashcan. Brandon Nichol then stomped over to the chair Trowa was sitting in and tipped him over. At which point Trowa was left with no other recourse but to stand up and punch his friend in the face.

_I'm down the dark and winding road  
My anger flares out of control  
One more drink and one more kiss  
Ain't never had a fight like this  
One day soon I'll find my way  
Too bad I'll probably die that day_

Sally listened to country music, but old country music. It might almost be considered bluegrass it was so far from what was considered country by most people. She'd handed him a bag of ice and a shot of whiskey, and then took a seat at her kitchen table while an old record player scratched out a tune. She waited patiently, filing a nail down, and sipping from her own glass.

"He tipped me over in my chair like a toddler," Trowa said.

Sally nodded and took another sip from her drink.

"And then I punched him. And, so, we fought. And then he kissed me, so-"

"I don't need the details," Sally said. "And then you fought some more?"

Trowa shook his head. "Look, it's not like I hadn't thought- But he's so stubborn about being manly."

"Well, he's also got like...What...four- three-"

"Five girlfriends," Trowa said.

Sally rolled her eyes. The record came to an end and she stood up to flip it over and play the B-side. She sat back down and gulped down the remainder of her drink.

"What did he say after?" She asked, because any other advice was contingent on Trowa's response.

"He said he was sorry, and then he left. Then he sent me a text that said he had stuff to think about."

"Hmm."

"Hmm?"

Sally grinned. "Maybe it'll work out."

"Really?"

She shrugged. "It's possible. Very possible." She looked at her empty glass and then at Trowa's which was untouched. "You gonna catch up?"

He grinned. "Possibly."

_We wreck the world  
Under our fists  
We hit the mark  
And burn our fingertips  
With the fire  
The fire of-  
We wreck the world  
Under our words  
We hit the mark  
And watch... as the world burns_

"I'm sorry."

"I know." Trowa looked out at the dark waves. He'd been living in that hotel room for a week now, but he liked the view and couldn't bear to leave it. Dark waves lapped gently against the coarse sand of the beach, and he looked over his shoulder at Brandon who was clinging desperately to the sides of the bed he was sitting on.

"All that other stuff," Brandon said softly, "can you forget it?"

"Which stuff? The beating each other up-"

"You know damn well what stuff."

"Right," Trowa stated and turned around, leaning in the doorway. "I think you should leave."

"But-"

"You don't know what you want, and I don't have the patience to wait around for you to figure it out."

Brandon scowled, and then nodded. "I didn't mean to ruin everything.

Trowa grinned and thought, _Yes, you did. You did._

End.


End file.
